


Sometimes

by PunkyNemo (TheVampireCat)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mention of Gorman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 15:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3254600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVampireCat/pseuds/PunkyNemo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll die for her.</p><p>He'll do any goddamned thing she asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing much to say about this one. I found it in my drafts folder and decided to share. I was trying a new style which I'm not all that good at.

Sometimes he gets scared, and sometimes he just gets angry.

Sometimes he sees that black car in his nightmares and he chases after it but his legs are made of lead and he’s stuck in quicksand. 

Sometimes he can’t say her name, sometimes he worries he’s forgotten her.

And sometimes when he looks at the scars on her face he just wants to bash his fists against a wall until they bleed.

It started the night she told him about Gorman, told him everything. Told him what that asshole did to those girls, told him that Joan unpicked her own goddamned stitches just so she never had to be near him again. Told him about the lollipops and how she smashed the jar over his head and let the undead take care of the rest. Told him how her skin still crawls when she thinks of his hands on her, his saliva in her mouth.

He’d listened. Listened to every word. Tried not to clench his jaw, tried not to ball his hands into fists, tried not to rage.

And he hadn’t. Somehow he hadn’t. Hadn’t let her see, hadn’t let her know. But when he went back to his room, back to his space that he hated because it wasn’t him and it wasn’t her and it wasn’t them, his knuckles had bled and red rivers ran down the walls until he’d stuffed his fist into his mouth to stop himself from screaming.

It isn't about him, he told himself. It’s about her, her own strength, her power and the ferocity in her blood. The courage the sears them both.

It isn't about him. It _isn't_ about his guilt and his failure.

He’d cleaned the wall.

He didn’t want her to see. Never wanted her to see. Never wanted her to know that if it was in his power he’d have brought Gorman back from the dead and killed him all over again. Slow this time. No glass jar to dull his head and his pain. No walker to rip his throat out, nothing that merciful. Nothing that dignified.

Hes not dignified. Doesn't want to be, doesn’t need that shit.

But when she came to his room that night - that night for the first time - she’d had no words and neither had he as she slipped under the blanket and wedged her body into his, pulled his arms forcefully around her and buried her head in his chest until he wasn’t sure how she could still breathe. And then he felt something close to it, something close to pride.

Because he knew that he’d never be there, in that bed, with her - with a woman who allows him to touch her skin and kiss her hair - if he didn’t have something, if there wasn’t part of him worth loving, worth wanting, worth needing.

She said she didn’t want to be alone. Said she _could_ be alone, but it'still not what she wants and it'seems not what he wants either.

Said she wants to be safe. Said he makes her feel safe.

And after a while he’d stopped looking for reasons to feel ashamed, stopped looking for guilt.

After a while he realised that he loves her so goddamned much that there just isn't place for self-reproach and angst, no place for fear and worrying about tomorrow.

See, he’d lay down and die for her. And it didn’t need to even be to save her. He hasn’t needed big elaborate heroic gestures for a long time. It's not about that. It’s about the fact that he’d do pretty much any goddamned thing for her. Nothing too big or too small.

No questions asked. No shots fired.

So her wanting to stay with him, sleep by his side? Well, it's not even a question.

 _You don’t gotta ask_ , he tells her and she says she knows, but she will anyway.

So she stays.

And he’s shocked at how easily he gets used to it. How he always thought he needed space for himself, that there wasn’t enough of it in his small world to share with another person.

But there is. There’s always space for Beth. And when she’s not there it feels like his world is too big and too empty and that he’s lost and stumbling through fog.

So she stays.

And she holds onto him like he’s a lifeline. And he lets her, because she’s one for him too.

She always has been.

***

 _It’s not like that Maggie_ , he tells her when she asks, brow lifted, mouth set in a firm line.

But it is.

_She’s frightened, she’s working stuff out. She needs to feel safe._

That’s the truth. But not all of it.

 _It’s not like that Maggie_ , he tells her again. Insistent this time. A little angry.

Beth tells her that it is.

It _is_ like that.

Tells her to mind her own business. Tells her she left on a wild goose chase to DC without her. 

Tells her to leave them be.

So she does, and she doesn’t ask again. Pretends she doesn’t notice when Beth spends the night in his room or when he spends the night in hers. Pretends it’s nothing when they’re on the road and Beth moves her sleeping bag next to his or sits with him, hands linked in the grass, if he’s on watch. Doesn’t say a word when Beth sinks against his chest and falls asleep on him while he struggles to keep his eyes on the road, on the camp, on anything but her.

In time it seems Maggie accepts it.

Truth of it is, it _isn’t_ like that.

Not yet at least.

They sleep together yes, but that’s just what they do. They sleep.

Sometimes they talk.

Sometimes it’s easy and sometimes it isn’t.

Sometimes he kisses her hair and sometimes he feels her lips on his neck.

And some days he just wants to shout that he loves her out loud for the world to hear. That he’s in love and he thinks she is too. And well, ain’t that just grandest thing any of you ever heard?

But he’s not sure it’s that simple.

But it’s good.

And it’s right.

And sometimes he still gets scared. And sometimes he still gets angry. And sometimes he sees the black car in his nightmares and his legs are lead and he’s running in quicksand.

And he still wants to put his fists through a wall when he notices her scars. And he tries to contain his murderous rage when he thinks of Gorman and what he did.

And he still doesn’t let her see.

Because she needs him.

Because she needs to feel safe.

Because he’ll die for her.

Because he’ll do any goddamned thing she asks.


End file.
